Breaking the Ice
by Crack Dandy
Summary: Greg cannot banish the thought that he always felt attracted to Sherlock's older brother, but he always tried to push it to the back of his mind. He has given up on the thought that he might be the one to get through to his heart, if there is one. But when he goes to the hospital to interrogate Mycroft about his sister, he feels that the ice may not be as thick as it seems.


*** **Breaking the Ice** ***

It was seven days ago, when Mycroft discovered that his sister found a way out of Sherrinford and six days since he was in hospital. Five days of which he can actually remember being there and four days since he could eat something. He thinks in numbers, matching them to the latest events, a game he and his brother liked to play on long car rides. Three times he had to ask the nurse to stop giving him any medication that clouds his mind, two visitors and one cigarette.

He looks around the white Hospital room. A fresh paint of grey would increase the comfort immensely, or not being tied to a hospital bed. "Good morning. You just made me lose my own game," says Mycroft when he recognizes his third visitor from the corner of his eye. He turns his head towards the door: "Any news concerning my family, Greg?" "Nothing I'm afraid, but things will be sorted. We need to ask you a few things." Greg Lestrade closes the door and takes a seat beneath the hospital bed and unbuttons his coat. He recognizes the scratches on Mycroft's face and realizes what he must have went through after his sister ended her little game, although Mycroft himself looks as confident as ever. "I will certainly not give any interview as long as I will have to wear these rags," says Mycroft referring to the plain white shirt he is wearing. "You're wearing a shirt Mycroft," says Greg and laughs "what is wrong with a bloody shirt. Nothing I will have to understand I guess. Has he been here?" "Who?" "Sherlock." "Oh, my brother. He was." "Happy family reunion after your sister tried to kill you?" Mycroft rolls his eyes "You wanted to interrogate me? If not, I will be more than delighted to say farewell," says Mycroft through an arrogant smile and picks up the book next to him: "War and Peace" by Leo Tolstoy.

He does not see anything humorous in the circumstance that he made her sister meet James Moriarty, which led to all events. Events that led him to show compassion in front of his brother, which was humiliating and unbearable. In particular, he does not understand why Scotland Yard sends their sniffer dog to get information. He will certainly not cooperate with anyone with an IQ lower than his, which includes almost everyone. Greg's smile disappears: "Well, straight to business then." He feels uncomfortable and wishes he had never volunteered to go to the hospital. All his colleagues hated it to deal with Sherlock Holmes, but some said they would consider leaving the department, or even the country, before ever having to speak to his older brother. For whatever reason, Greg liked to be around Mycroft Holmes. Although, he almost always gives him the cold shoulder. He takes out a small notebook: "How did you get in contact with James Moriarty and why?" Mycroft puts his book aside and takes a deep breath: "I have my sources and I will not tell what or who they are." He closes his eyes: "I contacted him… because…" he glimpses at Greg and notices his hair got greyer and that he looks tired. This must be a grueling case for him, as much as it is for him "… because I wanted to do something for my little sister." Greg cannot believe what he just heard "You and your brother are the worst liars in England." Mycroft folds his hands on his breast: "I… I wanted to exchange information." "On what?" "Nothing of your interest." "I'm a Detective Inspector and I think it is very much my business to know."

A nurse knocks and enters the room, both turn their heads "Mr. Holmes, there is a call from Elizabeth Smallwood. Shall I put her through?" Greg recognizes that Mycroft feels uncomfortable hearing Lady Smallwood's name. An emotion, and he is very sure about it, not many people have ever seen dealing with one of the Holmes brothers. Mycroft smiles: "Thank you, but please inform her that I will not answer any calls while I'm here." The nurse nods and exists the room. Greg is confused: "Lady Smallwood? More than work now, huh?" he laughs, while Mycroft frowns at him. He is still more than confused why she had given him her number and asked him out for a drink. Emotional contexts just don't seem logical to him. "It's complicated, innit?" asks Greg and puts his notebook away. He knows he isn't going to get any relevant information from the impersonation of the British Government lying in a hospital bed. "What is it that is complicated?" says Mycroft with an irritated look on his face. "You and her. Office romance… always complicated. I once…" "She is not…" "…I once had something with…" "We are not…" "…with that new officer from Newcastle. He was …" "Will you shut up already?!" Greg breaks off his talk. Both look at each other. "I'm sorry," both say simultaneously. "Bit slow at emotions, you and your brother." "We are," Mycroft smirks "never been." "Well, I'd better be off now," says Greg and rises. Just when he is about to open the door, he hears Mycroft: "What was it you were trying to say?" Greg stops: "About whom?" "Him. The officer from Newcastle." Greg is confused. Did the iceberg just ask him a personal question, without trying to harass him or being sarcastic? He sits down again: "Well, he was nice…" says Greg hesitantly, still not knowing what Mycroft wants. He looks into Mycroft's eyes: "… but it didn't work." Mycroft looks away, out of the big hospital window: "Some people are meant to fall in love with each other, but not meant to be together. As my brother once said: Love is a dangerous disadvantage. Getting emotionally involved puts you at risk of becoming an instrument, or to become vulnerable. That's why I prefer to not get attached to someone on that level," he looks back at Greg. "Did I just get some relationship advice from a Holmes?" Both laugh. "It's the shock I guess," says Mycroft smiling at Greg. "But, you will find someone who will break the ice, Mycroft. Everybody does. Someday."

Greg cannot banish the thought that he always felt attracted to Sherlock's older brother, but he always tried to push it to the back of his mind. He has given up on the thought that he might be the one to get through to his heart, if there is one. "The ice? Around my heart? I hope not. It's perfectly preserved in there," says Mycroft and tips on his breast. Greg begins to feel uncomfortable having an almost normal conversation with Mycroft Holmes, although this is all he ever wanted: "Your brother found someone." "And look what he got himself into. I'm not lonely. The only person I need is myself. No man could ever convince me otherwise." "Lady Smallwood seems to be interested." "I said man, not woman. The answer always lies in the details." Greg is perplexed, hearing his opposite talking about such personal matters. He starts to wonder if it has anything to do with Mycroft's medication, or if it was because of him. Greg's mobile breaks the silence. "You need to go back to work?" Askes Mycroft. "Yea… they found a body near the national theater." Greg stands up and walks to the door. Mycroft thinks of what to say: "I guess you still need some answers? I will be back in my office in a few days. Why don't you come to visit me there?" Greg smiles as he opens the door: "That would be nice."

Three days later, Greg arrives at the address Mycroft has texted him: 10-11 Carlton House Terrace, St. James's, London, also known as the Diogenes Club. As he makes his way through the hall as silent as possible, he thinks about what to say to Mycroft. He feels honored to be invited to Mycroft's private office in these famous walls. He knocks. "Come in!", Mycroft calls from inside. The old and heavy wooden door creaks when Greg opens it. He always imagined Mycroft's office to be like an old Victorian safe house, with thousands of books, a Whiskey carriage and a dusty old carpet. And it looks exactly like he had imagined. He is impressed by the room and the man confidently standing in front of the heavy work desk, casually leaning on it with one hand. Maybe it's just that: He feels attracted to him, because he seems so superior and calm.

As a Detective Inspector, he knows exactly how to suppress feelings for a long time, but now he is certain that he is very keen on Mycroft Holmes. "You found it. Good," says Mycroft and smiles, looking into his glass filled with liquor. "Wasn't that hard. I know every corner of this city." "Drink?", says Mycroft pointing to the Whiskey carriage. "Not on duty, thanks. Next time." While speaking these words Greg realizes that he just considered a 'next time' to happen and that his opposite, a quick thinker as he is, must have realized that, too. He looks at Mycroft in his dark green three-piece suit, feeling more and more attracted to him. Mycroft laughs: "Accurate. Have a seat." Mycroft notices that Greg Lestrade isn't as confident as he usually is. Typically, he is annoyed by Greg always trying to be cheerful and optimistic, but this time he can almost hear his heart beating from across the room. "Has someone threatened you?", asks Mycroft and sits down. "Why?" "You seem nervous." "It's just something…fresh…something new, being here." Mycroft looks daggers at Greg. "You are basically the British Government and this is your office. Being alone with you here…" Mycroft laughs: "Where is the Dictaphone?" "The What?" "The Dictaphone. You are recording our conversation. That's why you're nervous." Greg realizes that it is indeed a weakness to not be able to read emotions properly: "I'm nervous, because I'm with you." Mycroft is confused and takes a sip of his Whiskey: "Why would anyone be nervous around me?" He laughs sardonically: "Ask your questions, please." "It's actually just one. Scotland Yard is wondering how you got out, while John Watson and your brother ended up near your childhood home. We're questioning your involvement." Greg looks into Mycroft's face, which shows no emotion at all. "Have you ever heard of Baritsu?" Greg is puzzled: "Is that a Chinese meal or something?" "Wrong. It's an eclectic martial art and self-defense method originally developed in England during the years 1898 to 1902. I master it perfectly," says Mycroft proudly. Greg can't help himself but laugh: "You? Sports? Your brother says the only thing getting you on your feet is a cake on the other side of the room." "That is what he says? Don't they train you in methods of self-defense at Scotland Yard?" "They do. I would say I'm very good in defending myself. Caught a robber on Oxford street yesterday. He was some kind of Karate master. You don't look like…" "Like what?" "Like you could defeat anybody…physically."

Mycroft finishes his drink, puts the glass on the table and calmly stands up. The floor squeaks as he slowly walks behind Greg's chair. "I'm sorry, Mycroft. I was just jo…" Mycroft grabs Greg's arms hard and whispers in his ear: "Try me." Greg tries to cast off Mycroft, but he grasps his wrist even harder with his left hand. With his right, Mycroft pulls Greg to his feet, almost tearing the collar. He is almost inhuman, raging, nothing like the man Greg got to know. "You can fight back," says Mycroft out of breath. Greg slams Mycroft into the wall, holding up his hands over his head. Both breathe heavily. Mycroft realizes that a police officer is stronger than a man who almost exclusively sits behind his desk, which he could have guessed beforehand. "What now, Queen of England?", says Greg teasing Mycroft. Mycroft pushes Greg away, trying to catch his breath. Greg falls back on his chair and looks at Mycroft standing in front of him, sweat running down his face. Mycroft takes off his suit and tie, and rolls up his sleeves. Greg wants to stand up, but is forced back on the chair with a hard punch to the breast. Greg is surprised how strong Mycroft really is and gets turned on by his sudden change. He would have never thought that Mycroft has the same quick temper as his younger brother, but he likes it more than he thought he would.

With a quick move, Mycroft ties Greg's hand behind his back with his tie. "Don't struggle too much. The tie is made of silk.", says Mycroft leaning over Greg, face to face. "What now?", asks Greg and gives Mycroft a wink. As his face is close to Greg's, Mycroft comprehends why Greg might have been nervous and what their little fight might lead to. He knows, he should never let emotions take control, but also knows that this might be the only chance to show them. The disadvantage of a brilliant and rational mind is to ignore feelings until they run over you like an eighteen-wheeler truck, leaving you almost helpless. Mycroft doesn't know how to express what he feels and needs: "I don't know." "You just tied my hands behind my back and I can see that you like that very much," says Greg looking over Mycroft's body, noticing that he must be turned on by the situation, too. Mycroft smiles: "Well, how should we solve this dilemma? I'm not good in this." "In what?" "Human interactions," replies Mycroft, not losing eye contact. "What do you usually do, when…," asks Greg and watches Mycroft loosening his belt with one hand, still leaning over him. "If you want, this doesn't have to be an interaction." Mycroft understands that Greg is thinking of the same thing as he does, which turns him on even more. Greg watches Mycroft unzip his dark-green tweet pants: "I wish my hands weren't tied to this chair." "Why?", asks Mycroft reaching for himself. Greg shivers with excitement: "I would have you on this working desk in less than a second." Mycroft closes his eyes, electrified by the feeling flowing through his body as he slowly starts to move his hand up and down. As Greg watches Mycroft's movements become faster and faster, he almost stops breathing. This was something he always wanted, but never knew how to express to his partners. He hears Mycroft's breathe harder, noticing that his arm, with which he is leaning on the chair, is shaking. "Cum in my face, dirty boy," says Greg almost whispering. Mycroft presses his forehead against Greg's and moans silently.

He feels relieved, but also ashamed when he glances at Greg's face. Without saying a word, he puts his pants back on, loosens the tie behind Greg's back and walks towards the door. His cold palms stroke his sweaty face: "I… I… will better leave you alone now. There are… tissues to your left, in case you need some for… your face and... maybe… other… things I guess. I will wait outside." Mycroft closes the door, still not capable to understand what he just did. It just washed over him like a wave, but it felt good.

He walks down the hall, recognizing that they are the only people left. Entering the bathroom, he wishes he could have stayed with Greg, kissed him and told him what a great man he is. Instead, he acted like a psychopath, leaving him alone with his lust and just walked away when he was done. He knows that Greg enjoyed what happened, but he has the strong feeling that he will give up on him for having left the room. Walking back into the hall he tries to call his driver, but no one answers his call. He decides to have a smoke outside and nervously waits for Greg to exit the building. The street is filled with water running down the drains, the heavy raindrops pelt on the street. This is exactly what he is afraid of: overthinking emotions.

"There you are," says Greg stepping outside. Mycroft hesitates to turn around. "That was…" "I'm sorry," says Mycroft grinding his cigarette on the ground. Greg is confused: "What for? This was bloody sexy. I'm a grown-up man, you are not the first one." Greg laughs. "I'm not comfortable with being…sexy," replies Mycroft with a smile on his lips "…you certainly have a kind of confidence I lack, Greg." "You're telling me you acted shy in there?" "It's what happens when I let my emotions have the lead." Mycroft gives Greg a light for his cigarette. "Well, I pretty much liked that. Where's your driver?" "I don't know," says Mycroft hesitantly "I wasn't able to reach him." "You could walk. You'll be safe with a Detective Inspector by your side." Mycroft hates walking, but admits to himself that it might be the best option right now. He opens his umbrella and steps on the wet street, signalizing Greg to join him.

Walking down the street, Greg tries to recap the evening: "You could have stayed." Mycroft takes a deep breath: "I know. Most people could have, but not me. As I said… I'm not good in dealing with emotions. Certainly, not with emotions of that kind. I… know how to… deal with myself, but not with others. Touching others or being empathetic is rather difficult for me." He fakes a smile. "I gathered," says Greg "thanks for being open." "Isn't it disgusting?" "What?" "Emotions. They make you vulnerable." "I'm not hurt, if you mean that." "I was talking about myself. I saw what emotions did to my sister and my brother, since they were children. It's better to have your head rule over your heart." Greg looks at Mycroft: "You try to keep it together for your family." "Maybe…"

"Look out!", shouts Greg and pushes Mycroft to the side. A black car stops in front of them and a man rushes towards Mycroft, screaming manically: "It's all your fault!" The man comes fast at Mycroft with a looping swing at his head. Mycroft ducks, but the man takes his knee out with his foot. Greg hears it pop. Mycroft screames and goes down in a heap. The stranger was about to yell something, but Greg steps forward and pulls out his gun: "Scotland Yard!" But the man rushes toward him. Greg hooks his left arm over the man's right, grabs his throat and drives his right knee into his crotch. "Naff off, or I will use my gun!" The man looks shocked, runs back to his car and drives off into the rainy darkness. "So much for Baritsu… Who was that?", asks Greg breathless, rain running down his face. He looks to his right and sees Mycroft lying on the wet pavement in pain. "Are you all right?" He kneels down. "I know that man… a former Minister. I fired him... sort of," says Mycroft trying to swallow the pain "…see why I dislike walking. It's dangerous." Both laugh. "Lean on me," says Greg trying to comfort him. Mycroft limps when they walk on, both rain-soaked. "At least he didn't hurt your umbrella." "I would kill for this umbrella." "Are you sure you're all right?" Mycroft's face is contorted with pain. "Mycroft? Shall I call an ambulance?", asks Greg and sees Mycroft open his eyes widely. "For God's sake. No. I will never deliver myself into the hands of this sect again." Greg laughs out loud, but recognizes that Mycroft doesn't think it's funny. "C'mon, Mike. I'll walk you home." "The name my mother gave me is Mycroft." "Bad enough… You are bleeding…" Greg looks down Mycroft's leg: "I'll be all right. Let's make fast work of it," says Mycroft, putting his arm around Greg tightly.

Both arrive at Mycroft's home, shaking with cold. "Do you want to come in? Some of my staff will have turned on the fireplace," asks Mycroft fumbling for his keys. Greg hesitates to answer. After all Mycroft has told him, he isn't sure whether he should get more involved. He is an open and lighthearted person who likes to bond with people and Mycroft is the complete opposite. The friendship with his younger brother is already more than difficult to handle sometimes and he isn't sure how to handle a romance with a person of his kind, although they seem to have the same desires. "I guess I will go home now. Got some work left on my desk," says Greg and tries to smile. Mycroft unlocks the door: "Nothing I could understand more." The moment Greg steps down to the street, he hears Mycroft cry out in pain. He immediately rushes back to the door. Mycroft bends over the doorstep, trying to breathe. "Ok, let's see if there's any ice in the fridge to cool your knee," says Greg and supports Mycroft while walking into the living room. The room looks dark and cozy, almost like the living room of an ancient castle. The fire crackles as he helps Mycroft to sit down on the couch. "Put your leg on this chair." Greg reaches for a small stool and places it under Mycroft's knee. Mycroft stays silent, which is a rare occasion. As he rolls up the trousers leg, he recognizes the dried blood on the cloth. "You will have to see a doctor tomorrow, Mycroft." Mycroft shakes his head and bites his lip in pain. Greg stand up: "Of course, you will, big boy. Is there any Ice in the kitchen?" Mycroft nods. "It's down the corridor?" "On the left," mumbles Mycroft and watches Greg walk to the door.

When Greg comes back into the living room he hears a faint snoring and smiles. Mycroft must have fallen asleep while he was searching for ice. He wraps the ice into a blanket and tries to put it on Mycroft's knee as carful as possible. Mycroft doesn't wake up, which surprises Greg. Watching Mycroft being asleep is unfamiliar. He looks calm, almost like a child. Greg takes a seat next to him. The fire burns bright and warm, casting an orange light on them. He carefully lies down, resting his head in Mycroft's lab and closes his eyes. The moment seems almost perfect, except for the fact that Mycroft doesn't know. Greg knows that he would reject any affection of this kind immediately. He winces when he feels a hand starting to stroke his head. It is Mycroft, running his hand through Greg's hair. "Don't tell anybody that I'm a human being," whispers Mycroft, feeling his heart beating faster.


End file.
